‘I have studied the science of goodbyes,
in bare-headed laments of night.’

Osip Mandelstam, ‘Tristia’, 1918


what is left, when we have left,
what lustre spills into the air,
whose wraith disturbs the dust of memory

the ethereal descent into rocks and rivers,
earth’s benediction,

a thin wind feeds on grasses and herbs,
the valley statuesque,
the sky mute